Brian Jacques - Redwall #07 - Mariel of Redwall

Abbot Bernard yawned. "I think I'll join the Dibbuns, Simeon."

"Me too, Bernard. It's been a long day and we're getting no younger, my friend. I'll just take a stroll first and check that all the outer gates are secured." Simeon the blind herbalist placed a paw on his friend's shoulder.

"Right, I'll come with you."

"No you won't. I can sense your weariness. Besides, what could you see in the dark that i could not feel ten times better? Day and night are alike to me."

"You are right, of course. Good night, Simeon."

"Good night, Bernard. Sleep well."

The Abbot went off to his room, knowing that shortly the kitchen fires would be damped for the night, the cooks would retire and peace would settle over his beloved Redwall Abbey.

oo

As Gabool predicted, the ship Greenfang had crossed bows with Darkqueen, the huge black galley commanded by Saltar. Upon hearing of the death of his brother Bludrigg, the corsair Captain put about, piling on sail and oars as he set course for Terramort Isle. The whips cracked belowdecks as drivers flogged the galley slaves on to greater efforts. The searat atop of the mizzenmast scoured the waves for sight of land; below his claws

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the wide sails bellied out on the night breeze. Saltar stood in the bows putting a fine edge to his curved sword on an oilstone. Bleak-eyed and grim-faced, the searat muttered beneath his breath.

"I'll send you down where the fish will eat your flesh and the sea water rot your bones, Gabool the Wild. There was never any love lost between me and Blud-rigg, but he was my brother, and blood must be repaid with blood."

"Terramort rocks sighted off the starb'd bow, Cap'n," the lookout called down. "We can drop anchor in the cove afore dawn with this wind behind us."

Saltar sheathed his sword and began polishing the needletip of his cruel gaff hook, scowling at the dark lump on the horizon which marked the black forbidding rocks of Gabool's pirate kingdom.

"Ledder, douse all lights. When we're close enough to harbor, furl in all sails. Tell the crew to arm up and stand ready. There's killin' to be done tomorrow."

Saltar's first mate Ledder went aft to carry out his orders.

With the hook swinging from a neck cord and his sword at his side, Saltar stood leaning on the forward rail. He had never lost a fight or left an enemy alive. Gabool the Wild might rule Terramort and Fort Blade-girt, but Saltar had heard, as had every other salty searat, the story of how he was nearly bested by a mousemaid.

The corsair spat viciously over the side at the curving bow wave. "Lord of all Seas, King of Searats! Huh! You'll find out tomorrow, Gabool. You'll learn that

Saltar the Corsair is no mousemaid!"

oo

In the banqueting hall of Fort Bladegirt, Gabool stood giving instructions to three fortslaves, dormice who had been captured in a land raid.

"Stand on his shoulders, you. Polish up round the top where the ring is. You, be still, and don't put yer

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bare paws on the metalyou'll have pawmarks all over me bell. Of course, you know what that means, don't you?"

Doing his best to stand still and not to touch the bell, the ragged slave called over his shoulder, "Yes, Master. Pawmarks all over the bell mean whipmarks all over our backs."

Gabool slouched down on his throne. He picked idly at a dish of fruits crystallized in sugared honey and poured a goblet of wine.

"That's right, three lashes each for every pawmark. If I were you, I'd rip me shirt up and wrap it round me pawssave yerself a lot of whipping."

The three slaves hurried to comply with the suggestion, tearing up the pitiful remnants of tattered shirts and bandaging their paws with the strips.

A thin gray rat with a patch over one eye came running. "Lord, the Darkqueerirs sails have been sighted."

"Where away?"

"To the north. She should drop anchor here by dawn."

Gabool stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Good, are the troops standin' ready, mate?"

"Aye, Lord. Five score to board the Darkqueen and sail her off once Saltar and his crew step ashore, fifty archers halfway up the cliff and a hundred more fully armed with pikes and spears to form his reception committee, just as you ordered."

"You've done well, Graypatch. Have a cup o' wine and some of these sweetmeats with me. Dawn will soon be here."

Graypatch pulled out a mean-looking dagger and tested its edge. "Last dawn Saltar'll ever see, eh, Lord."

"Aye, he can go and visit his brother Bludrigg at Hellgates, and you, me old shipmate, you can wear a velvet patch when you're Captain of the Darkqueen. Hey, you! Polish harder, put your skinny back into it."

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"Yes, Master." The unfortunate slave polished harder.

Gabool laughed. "Maybe you're hungry. D'you like eating fish?"

"Yes, master. I like eating fish."

Gabool winked at Graypatch as he called back to the dormouse slave. "Well, if you don't rub harder, the fish'll like eating you. Hahaha!"

The thin bodies of the slaves shook and quivered with effort as they rubbed and polished at the great bell with all their might. Gabool's jokes were not to be taken lightly.

Gabool and Graypatch took their wine and sweetmeats over to the window, where they could watch the Darkqueen sail in upon the tide.

Graypatch watched the savage Searat Ruler and reflected as he sipped his wine that Gabool was becoming more difficult to tread around. They had been ship-rats together since their young days, Gabool commanding, Graypatch obeyingthat was the way it had always been. However, for some time now Graypatch had been looking more to his own ends. When a Searat King began murdering his Captains on the slightest pretext, times were becoming perilous; now the patch-eyed rat was sure of it. Gabool was drunk with his own power and had become dangerous; anybeast could be slain at his whim. But not Graypatch. Offers of Captaincy and velvet patches did not impress himsuch offers could easily turn into a blade between the ribs if Gabool saw fit. In his fertile brain Graypatch began forming his own plans as he laughed and joked with his unpredictable companion, while all the time the Darkqueen rode the waves to Terramort.

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7

Dawn broke mistily over the dunes, promising another hot summer day. The mousemaid Storm awoke to find herself surrounded by toads. During the night the well she had dug had filled up with water, and all around Storm the toads were closing in on her and the precious water. She closed her eyes again, feigning sleep. Her paw grasped Gullwhacker, the knotted rope, as she watched them through partially closed eyes. It was a dangerous situation; many of the toads were armed with tridents. She waited until a large male natterjack was practically standing over her before springing into action.

Whop!

Gullwhacker came down with such a resounding force upon the toad's head that he was laid out senseless. Storm whirled the rope, shouting aloud. "Back off, slimyskins, or I'll whack you into the middle of next season!"

A huge overweight speckled toad hopped heavily forward, flanked by two tough-looking young ones armed with the fearsome three-pointed tridents. The fat one blinked several times, his throat bulging and quivering.

"Grroikl! This is our land, this is our water. Grrokk!

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You are not allowed to stop here. Go now or die, Oyka-mon has spoken. Rrrebb!"

Storm was not about to go and she did not mince her words. "You can speak all you want, fatface. This is my land and my water, this little bit right here. I am called Storm Gullwhacker. I come from the sea and I'm going nowhere. But I'll fight to stay here!"

Oykamon puffed himself up to full swell. "Grriokk! You are very insolent for a mouse. Krrrr! We are too many for you. If you fight you will die here. Grakk!"